


Fifteen Stars

by grayimperia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, F/F, Kinda, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: [Spoilers for the entirety of V3]Because Saihara decides that if each of their classmates are stars, then Momota’s the universe that holds them together.Or, no matter the world, Momota Kaito, space legend, brings joy to all people, whether he knows it or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for the entirety of V3

In a happier world, where they’re all recognized for their talents and all attend neat little classes together, Kaede sees Momota springing up first to answer every question, racing down the halls to attend every class, and laughing the hardest at every joke. Once, when he was in a particularly salient bought of energy, Kaede had thought to herself that there simply was no ‘off’ button on him.

She’s the class rep, which means she often finds herself running from task to task in what are occasionally desperate attempts to organize events for her classmates to bond over. In other words, Kaede absently thinks that she would kill for an eighth of Momota’s seemingly endless energy. 

She decides to pull an all-nighter to finish planning the preparations for the class camping trip. Momota pumps his fists and tells her he’s behind her all the way, and claps Saihara on the back when the other boy much more quietly stutters out that he is too. Saihara falls asleep, face buried in his arms folded on her desk when the clock strikes four, and Kaede and Momota both come to the silent conclusion that neither of them have the heart to wake him. 

Momota takes the blanket off her bed and places it over his shoulders with only a quick nod to Kaede. She’s lying on the floor of her room on her stomach typing away at her computer, and after letting out a too loud yawn, he returns to mirroring her position at his own laptop. Kaede says after a moment, “We have two large tents for the boys and two for the girls,” she looks up at him. “Who do you want to room with?”

“Uh,” he scratches his chin. “Does Kiibo need a tent?”

“Not really,” she says. “But he’d be pretty upset if we didn’t give him one. He just has to power off, though, so he’ll probably be really quiet.” She bites her lip. “Which kind of makes me want to put him with Amami-kun, since he’s our guide, and…”

“Sleep’s pretty important for the person in charge of not getting us lost?” Momota says. “Yeah… you should probably put Shuuichi with them, too, then,” he glances over his shoulder at the sleeping boy. “He’s real quiet.”

Kaede nods. “Okay, do you want—” she cuts herself off, a sudden yawn overtaking her. “Ah, sorry,” she shakes her head. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

He leans back and rolls his shoulders. “You can sleep if you want to—I can take care of the rest.”

“I can’t let you do all that,” she says. “Especially since I’m the one who dragged you into helping me.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” Momota frowns. “I’m helping out ‘cause I want to.” He looks up, a wide grin on his face. “And ‘cause this sounds like it’s going to be really fucking awesome.”

She laughs. “Well, I sure hope so. Actually,” renewed energy courses back through her. “I think I can work a bit longer. Your enthusiasm is contagious, Momota-kun.”

He salutes her. “That’s what I’m here for, boss. Supporting you one hundred percent.”

Kaede laughs again. 

In a less kind world, Momota would be among the last to give up in the tunnels. He would slam his fists together and yell at the other for giving up and blaming Kaede for pushing them forward. 

He’d stand in front of her when the Exisals would come to take her away. And even when her body would swing in time like a metronome, he would never stop believing in her for a second.

-

In a world where he knows who he is, Amami sees himself as a big brother sort of figure. His classmates are certainly energetic, and he slowly comes to see himself as a pillar of calm, ready and waiting to sort out disagreements with limitless patience. 

Momota is also a big brother figure, but when it seems like Ouma’s teasing becomes too much for Saihara or Iruma’s jokes too invasive, his first response is to begin yelling. He’s just finished one such bout of shouting, and Ouma merrily skips out of the classroom, arms folded behind his head. Saihara’s face is a bright red color, and he hurriedly mumbles to Momota that he’ll see him later before shuffling out of the room a touch too quickly. 

Amami’s alone with the astronaut now, and packing up the last of his things says, “That got out of hand,” conversationally. 

Momota runs a hand over his face. “Ugh, it’s my fault. I think I embarrassed Shuuichi, too.”

“Maybe,” Amami says. “Though, to speak bluntly, that’s a pretty easy thing to do.”

“I guess,” he leans back in his chair. “Still doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. God, that little brat just makes me so fucking angry sometimes.”

“I think that’s kind of the point,” he says. “He was likely only teasing Saihara-kun today because he knew he’d get a reaction out of you. It’s kind of a pattern with him.”

Momota blinks up at him. “How do you know all that?”

Amami shrugs. “Dunno. I guess Ouma-kun’s usually more subtle about it, and even lets Saihara-kun play along when you’re not around.” Momota’s staring at him slack jawed, so he says, “Just something I noticed from time to time.”

He shakes his head. “So it is my fault.” He sighs again, and there’s a genuineness to everything that catches Amami off guard. Because Amami is the big brother who keeps the peace, but Momota’s the big brother who takes every failure and struggle into a heart that he wears on his sleeve. 

“Sorry, Momota-kun,” he says, quieter. “If you want, I could try talking to Ouma-kun for you.”

“Nah,” he says. “I need to deal with my own shit, but God.” He stares him straight in the eyes. “I just don’t understand how you can stay so calm, man.”

Amami slings his bag over his shoulder, breaking the too honest eye contact as fast as he can. “It’s really nothing you should be jealous over,” he says easily. He doesn’t follow it up with, ‘I’m less invested,’ instead choosing the words, “To be honest, I actually wish I had some of your passion.”

Momota raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really,” he walks away, saying, “So you shouldn’t be jealous of someone like me, alright?”

He smiling again. “You keep telling me not to be jealous, but,” he jumps to his feet. “I’m Momota Kaito, famous in space. You’re pretty cool Amami, but—”

He smiles back. “I can’t beat you.”

In a world where Amami’s head is a mess, Momota would invite him to a strategy meeting because he believes they can all work together to fight off their impending doom. Amami would then sneak out because he believes he can’t trust anyone and everything’s on his shoulders. 

Momota would rally everyone, and Amami would try to take on the burden alone. He wouldn’t live long enough to see just how jealous he should be.

-

In a world where he goes to high school and not prison, Hoshi stares far too long at the tennis courts. He had announced many times over that the sport was behind him, but when he was alone, there was little harm in looking longingly at the courts, other than his own voice echoing through his head about how pathetic he must look. 

He thinks that maybe he could go out and practice a few serves, just for the sake of not getting any rustier, then part of him dutifully chimes in to say that he doesn’t deserve that. 

Hoshi fiddles the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers. He’s about to leave to return to the more absolute solitude of his room when he spies the loud, purple, and energetically moving figure of Momota dash on to one of the courts. Saihara obediently follows him, carrying what appears to be both of their backpacks. 

Hoshi leans forward. Saihara sets their stuff to the side of one of the nets, and Momota’s already picked up a racket, giving it a few wildly out of control test swings. Even with the distance between them, Hoshi can hear Momota say, “Man, it’s been so long since I last played,” he points the racket at Saihara. “Shuuichi, you’re my assistant, but prepare to get crushed.”

Saihara’s response is too quiet to make out, but Hoshi’s attention is trained on the ball Momota picks up. He can’t stop the scoff that escapes him when he sees Momota complete one of the sloppiest serves he’s seen in a long time. Saihara likely says something encouraging because Momota’s beaming ear to ear at his pitiful performance. Well, Hoshi knows it’s pitiful, and his legs are moving towards the court before he can fully register what he’s doing. The sanctity of tennis is in danger, and Hoshi knows where he’s needed.

He hears the tail end of Saihara saying, “Always need to hit it that hard?”

Hoshi answers for Momota. “No. In fact you really shouldn’t.”

They both turn to him. Momota’s grin gets even wider. “Hoshi! Man, I was hoping I’d get to play against you one day.” 

He shakes his head. “Not here to play. Just,” he thinks about what he is doing, “offer corrections.” He gestures at Momota’s posture with his cigarette. “First, the way you’re standing is terrible. You can’t transfer your weight right like that.”

Momota says, “This better?” and hops to a slightly more correct, though still imperfect positioning. 

Hoshi approaches, and is already modeling the stance when he says, “More like this.”

Saihara says, “Should I get you a racket, Hoshi-kun?”

“Yeah!” Momota shouts back. Hoshi turns to give him a withering look, a reminder of tennis being behind him already on his tongue. Momota says, “So you can better show me what to do. Like, is this grip right?”

Hoshi stares at Momota to say he knows exactly what the other boy’s trying to do. But Momota’s smiling innocently at him, and he’s holding his racket in a way that brings Hoshi pain. He sighs, and spends far too much of day talking about tennis and telling stories about tennis and remembering just how much he loves tennis. 

When Saihara runs off to get more water bottles, Momota says, “One day I am going to play against you, and,” his eyes are bright. “I’m going to win.”

Hoshi laughs. “Dream big, kid.” 

Momota gives him a thumbs up. “I always do!”

In a world where Hoshi’s a prisoner in a high school, Momota wouldn’t waste a second of time in telling him how much life is worth living. He would stand tall and say that absolutely every life has meaning—the very act of living is reason enough to keep going. 

Hoshi would shake his head at him. He would think that the other boy just couldn’t understand, but at night, he’d think that maybe there was something, somewhere beneath all the nonsense and grandstanding. Maybe.

-

In a world where Tojo is a student and not a prime minister, she takes double shifts in cleaning the classroom when they’re dismissed for the day. Momota and Saihara have been assigned to help her, and she sends Saihara to get a new bucket of soapy water after Momota accidentally kicks their old one over almost immediately. 

As soon as Saihara runs out of the room, he says, “Sorry again, about that Tojo. Guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He rubs the back of his head apologetically. 

She gives him a curt nod. “It’s fine. Would you mind helping me wipe it up, Momota-kun?”

He shakes his head. “Hey, let me do it—it’s my fault.”

“We are working together to clean the room,” Tojo says simply, already kneeling beside the puddle. “And cleaning is my talent, anyway.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair.” Momota kneels next to her, a pile of towels in his hands. He frowns. “Or is it annoying when people say that?”

She looks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I might be totally off on this, but,” he shrugs. “Is it annoying when everyone feels bad for you doing maid stuff when you’re, you know,” he gestures at her, “a maid?”

Tojo smiles, her focus turning to the puddle before her. “I suppose repeatedly explaining my feelings about it can be a bit tedious, but I understand the impulse is coming from a well-intended place.”

“I guess,” Momota says. He lays out one towel over the puddle. “I mean, I’d get pretty fucking annoyed if people whined at me for astronaut training.”

“I suppose it’s easier to see a person’s personal enjoyment with something like that,” she says, taking another towel and placing it on the far part of the puddle. “I find joy in my work, but I understand that many simply see it as a nuisance in their personal lives. That isn’t to say that I prefer cleaning up extra messes,” Momota smiles sheepishly. “But it is really not as much of a bother as some think it is.”

He nods. “That makes sense. Still seems unfair,” he reaches up to stretch out his back. “Being a maid seems like it’s as much work as being an astronaut sometimes.” 

“That is very kind of you to say, Momota-kun,” Tojo says. “But in truth,” she reaches for another towel. “I enjoy the responsibility. Knowing others depend on you is,” she pauses. “To speak frankly, it’s rather nice.”

Momota picks up the first towel, not drenched with water. “I get that. You’re kinda the group mom, Tojo, you know that?”

She laughs. “I’ve heard that from time to time. As long as no one calls me ‘mother,’ I have no problems with it.”

“Hmm,” he leans back. “Hey, if you’re the mom, who’s the group dad?”

“Good question,” Tojo taps a gloved finger to her chin. “Shinguji-kun, perhaps?”

“God, no,” he breathes out. “Shinguji’s the creepy uncle.”

Tojo finds herself laughing again. “That’s not very nice of you to say, Momota-kun.”

“Eh,” he says. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

Saihara returns with a new bucket, and finds the two of them seemingly laughing and smiling over the mess Momota made. 

In a world where Tojo thinks everyone depends on her, she would argue that her life is so, so much more important than everyone else’s. Momota would look her dead in the eye, and see—knowing exactly who is depending on him—completely through her. 

He would also cheer on her escape attempt, shouting at her to not give up even though the vine’s so long and her cuts hurt so badly and almost everyone knows it’s all futile. She would keep climbing and everyone would keep shouting at her to never give up, one voice rising above to say that it’s only impossible until she does it.

-

In a world where Angie makes statues of her friends for fun rather than to raise their spirits from the dead, she is tasked with running the haunted house at the school cultural festival. Most of the people passing by are strangers from other classes who she’ll cheerfully wave at, but when she spies one of her own classmates in the crowd, she’ll stand at her booth and wave both arms above her head. 

Tojo and Amami wave back politely but don’t slow down when they pass her. Yumeno and Tenko say hello and bring her food from one of the other stands, but they, too, leave after exchanging a few words, content to spend the day with each other. 

She dutifully stands at attention and waves to each passerby. Through the hordes of students, Saihara notices her and tugs on the sleeve of Momota’s jacket. The boy spins on his heel and waves back with the full length of his arm, already marching over to her stand, Saihara following after him. 

“Hey, what you got over here?” he asks, smiling down at her. 

“Aha, Angie sees that God has chosen you,” she says. “Lots of people have walked by, but God hasn’t picked very many so far.”

Momota has an odd look on his face, but nods along. “Yeah, looks like it. Soooo,” he glances at the doorway decorated with skeletons next to her. “What has, uh, God chosen us for?”

“Only for the chance to explore some of the wonders from beyond!” Angie says. She points to the price chart next to her. “For a reasonable fee.”

Saihara laughs nervously. “Ah, I guess that makes sense.” He looks up to Momota. “Do you want to check it out?” 

Momota’s staring hard at the entry way. “Uh, you know, Shuuichi, as much as I totally want to, maybe we should—”

“Oh, you definitely should!” says Angie. “Angie really wants to go too actually, but God says someone needs to run the booth.” 

“Ah, well,” Saihara says. “If you two want to go ahead, I could watch it for you for a little while, Angie-san.” 

She claps her hands together. “You’re the best, Shuuichi!”

Momota pales. “You really don’t have to do that, man.”

“Aw, God says we should let him do it if he wants to!” Angie says. “So let’s go! Let’s go!” 

She runs around the side of her booth to begin tugging at his arm. Momota lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he reaches into his pocket to pull out what little money he’s been carrying around, handing it to Saihara. “Take whatever the fee is, and you can have the rest.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re just giving this to me?”

“Yeah, listen, Shuuichi,” Momota says, panic rising as Angie slowly pulls him towards the dark doorway. “If I don’t come back, I want you to know—”

“Here we go!” Angie shouts. The last thing they see is Saihara’s confused face before the world is engulfed in darkness. “Wow,” Angie says. “Even God’s impressed at how good a job they did!” 

Momota’s voice squeaks next to her. “Y-yeah. Real fucking great job.” Angie moves to let go of his arm to skip ahead, and he immediately clings to her. “H-hey, we’re doing this together, right?” 

A few lights meant to resemble candles flick on with a hiss ahead of them. Momota jumps at the same time Angie giggles. “Sure! Angie’s super excited for this,” she begins walking forward, but at a slower pace to allow him to shuffle behind her. “She was actually kinda worried that she wouldn’t get a chance to see.” 

“Yeah, that, uh, would’ve been a real shame.” 

More seemingly floating lights pop into existence overhead. Momota lets out a low whine. Angie beams. “Ah, the part Angie helped make is coming soon!” she looks up at his terrified face with a shining smile. “Make sure to pay extra attention to the textures on the scales! Angie worked super hard on those!”

“W-will do,” he stutters. He seems near desperate to make conversation as a few translucent ghosts silently swim through the air past them. “You, uh, put a lot of work into this, Angie.” 

“Angie did!” she says. “God’s been pretty picky about who gets to see Angie’s work, lately, so she’s extra glad you’re coming along.” 

“Uh, well, then I’m glad to be—what the fuck was that!?”

The two slowly make their way through to the end. Momota clings to Saihara when they return to the booth. Angie smiles even brighter than before. “Aha! That was so fun, right Kaito?” 

“S-super fun,” he says into Saihara’s shoulder. “Hey, Angie, if you wanna show me more art stuff, can I make a fucking request?”

Saihara says very quietly, “Are you okay, Momota-kun?”

“Anything for Angie’s haunted house buddy!” she cheers.

“No, ghosts. Please, no fucking ghosts.”

She hums, “Hmmm, Angie’ll think about it, but no promises!”

He mumbles something in confirmation, dragging Saihara away and giving her a noticeably less enthusiastic wave goodbye than when he first approached. Angie jumps up and down, waving both arms in arcs that stretch from her head to her waist. 

In a world where Angie tries to raise the dead, Momota would fight with her. He’d be scared beyond belief, but he’d point at her with a trembling finger and tell her that giving into Monokuma’s motive is wrong.

Angie would ignore him and do whatever she wanted. She would busily work at making each wax sculpture and read from the book they found in Shinguji’s lab. She wouldn’t think for a second that anything was wrong. She’d think that once she summoned one of their friends, everyone would be able to live peacefully, and Momota would finally understand.

\- 

In a world where the only things Tenko needs to worry about protecting the girls in her class from are obnoxious boys, she speeds along the school’s outdoor track. She wasn’t sure how she first felt about having P.E. classes alongside the boys, but the experience makes her even more competitive, and she finds there’s something rewarding about training Gonta or flipping Momota to the ground. Currently, she’s content with simply racing alongside them. 

Momota turns to the side and, shouts “Lap five!” towards the tree Saihara and Yumeno are sitting in the shade of. Tenko takes the opportunity to sprint a few feet ahead of him while he’s distracted with grinning over Saihara’s reserved cheering. 

Gonta seems to pick up on her cue and matches pace with her. Momota’s head snaps back to them, and with a shout of “Hey!” he pushes himself to meet them. 

Tenko says, “Not my job to tell you when we’re speeding up.”

He laughs. “Sure you can keep this pace though, Chabashira?”

“Of course,” she spits back. “Tenko won’t lose to any boy.”

Gonta smiles, trying his best alongside them, despite not having the same competitive fire. 

At lap eight, the rest of their class clears out of the track, ready to move on with the rest of their day. Tenko and Momota keep racing, and Gonta keeps running alongside them. Tenko can tell that Yumeno’s fallen asleep when she glances over to see the small girl glaring at Saihara for having woken her up with the shyest clapping Tenko’s ever heard. She turns back and Momota’s a few feet ahead of her, Gonta confusedly at his side. 

When she dashes to catch up to them, Momota says, “Gotta pay attention, Chabashira.”

She grits her teeth, determination setting her on fire. “Tenko is going to grind you into the dust.”

Gonta gives it up at lap eleven, his impressive bulk and ability having nothing on the sheer pride pushing Tenko and Momota forward. He doubles over in the grass next to Saihara and the dozing Yumeno. After catching his breath and downing the entirety of Saihara’s water bottle, he manages to say, “Gonta is very impressed by Chabashira-san and Momota-kun’s endurance. Gonta sure has a lot to learn from them.”

Momota shouts between labored breaths, “I’ll… teach you… everything you need… to know… big guy!”

Tenko says, “Don’t listen… to him… Gonta-san! Tenko can… teach you… better!”

They’re forced to run in silence for most of the coming laps, the only sounds either of them able to let out being the heavy breathing marked of running five miles in a dead sprint. Saihara’s standing at the finish line when they’re nearing lap twenty, ready to convince them to give it up. 

He opens his mouth, and both Tenko and Momota find the energy to shout “One more!” when they reach him. He’s left blinking at the shock of their sheer coordination as they speed past him. 

They finally collapse at lap twenty-five, after Momota made the move of pretending to slow down at the promised end point before suddenly speeding back up again. Tenko’s legs are on fire as she bends to grab her knees, Momota laying flat on his back beside her. It’s gasping for air and drinking water provided by a half-asleep Yumeno and Saihara hovering over them with worry until Momota breaks the monotony by eventually wheezing out, “Pretty good… Chabashira… you almost… beat me.”

She just shakes her head, not even bothering to look up from her doubled over position. “Just like… an awful boy… to not know… when he’s beat.”

Saihara quickly stutters out that they both did great to stave off more running. He misses the shared, secretive grin they trade between each other.

In a world where Tenko has to sacrifice herself to protect the girl she loves, she would race around the halls of the basement with Momota for the sake of a strategy meeting to defend everyone. She would stand beside him, ready to fight giant robots and Monokuma and anything else the killing game tried to throw at them. 

And after she could no longer stand against the game, he would shout that he would never stop fighting until the others recognized that her death had meaning. 

-

In a world where Yumeno doesn’t witness her friends dying before her very eyes, she lies on a grassy hill outside the school, and stares up at the clouds. Normally she’d be in the middle of a nap, but Momota’s next to her with one hand folded behind his head and the other pointing towards the sky. 

It’s the middle of the day, and with no stars to point to, Momota says, “That cloud looks kinda like a rocket.”

She narrows her eyes to follow his finger. “Dunno. Looks more like a rabbit to me.”

“Rabbit?” he tilts his head to the side. “Eh, I guess.” He rubs his chin before suddenly jabbing his finger in a different direction. “Now that one looks like a rabbit.”

“I don’t see it,” Yumeno says with a yawn.

“Like a sideways rabbit,” he amends. “But definitely more of a rabbit than that other one.”

She frowns at him. “Are you cross-eyed or something? Your rocket is clearly a rabbit. And that one’s,” she squints at it. “That one’s a lumpy potato.”

Momota sits up on his elbows to look at her. “Lumpy potato?” He seems almost offended.

“Yeah?” she responds. “What’s wrong with that?”

He snorts. “You could fucking say that about any of them.”

Yumeno shrugs her shoulders, still lying flat on her back. “What do you want from me? I don’t cloud watch a lot.”

Momota looks genuinely confused when he says, “Then what the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Napping.” She pulls her hat over her face. “Or trying to anyway.”

There’s silence for a few moments as she assumes Momota takes the time to mull over her statement. Then she hears the sound of the grass next to her being pushed down again. Yumeno spares a glance to the side to see him lying down again, eyes closed and hands folded over his stomach. “You’re… taking a nap?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Figured I might as well. Seems like they work out pretty well for you, and,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t have to meet with Shuuichi for another hour.”

Yumeno hums and places her hat next to her again. “Tenko’s coming in an hour. Maybe they’ll run into each other.”

“Maybe,” he says stretching his arms out in front of him. “Be nice if those two became friends.”

He doesn’t say anything more, and Yumeno stares up at a cloud shaped like a rocket-rabbit-potato. After a long sleepless moment, she points her own small hand up to the sky and says, “That one looks like a pinwheel.”

She doesn’t need to turn her head to know Momota’s smiling when he says. “The one next to it looks like a magnifying glass.” 

It’s quiet until Tenko comes marching up the hill with Saihara trailing behind her. Tenko begins to fuss over the grass covering Yumeno’s back, and Momota pulls Saihara down next to him when the other boy offers him a hand to help him stand up. Saihara lets out a squeak in surprise, and Tenko begins scolding the two of them for making such a racket while Yumeno’s trying to sleep. 

Momota looks at Yumeno out of the corner of his eyes and she looks back, and for a second they understand each other perfectly.

In a world where Yumeno soldiers on to the end, Momota would swear that he believes in her, and he’ll help her fight till the end. He would fall down, and she would feel sharp motivation to help him.

He would give his final words and die before her eyes, and his spirit would carry on when she would find herself faced between the awful choice of hope and despair.

-

In a world where Shinguji is not a serial killer, he divides most of his time between holing himself up in the school library or sitting patiently in a dorm common room with a notebook and pen in his bandaged hands. The common room with a T.V. firmly placed in one corner often is, Shinguji has found, the source of particularly interesting human interactions.

Momota and Saihara are sitting on the floor playing a game that causes them to move in real life when their avatars jump from platform to platform. Momota hikes his shoulders and leans forward, shouting “Double-jump, double-jump, c’mon work, work!”

His avatar falls into a bottomless pit, evoking a particularly heartfelt crime of anguish. From his position on the couch behind them, Shinguji smiles under his mask and jots down a few quick notes. Saihara’s avatar quickly meets the same fate, and Momota groans again. “There has to be something we’re fucking up,” he says. “Did we fucking miss an extra,” he waves one of his hands, “invisible platform or something?”

“Ah,” Saihara says much more calmly. “Well, we’re going to have to start over now anyways, so maybe.” He bites his lip. “Also I have a meeting soon.”

The game starts back up again. Momota says, “Shuuichi, you are not going to just leave me here to suffer, are you?” 

He laughs, “You don’t have to keep playing.”

He shakes his head. “But I do.” Shinguji raises his eyebrows and quickly writes more. The sound of his pen scribbling across the paper gets Momota’s attention. Without turning away from his game, he says, “Hey, Shinguji, you’re next when Shuuichi has to leave.”

Both of the other boys are taken by surprise. Shinguji recovers first. “That is a kind offer, Momota-kun,” he responds. “But I am afraid that I don’t play video games.”

Momota snorts. “Anyone can play a video game,” the intensity in his voice increases as he ducks at the same time as his avatar, “some people are shit at them but everyone can play—fuck this game!”

Saihara puts down his own controller. “Sorry, Momota-kun, I think I need to head out now…” he bites his lip, looking down at Momota grating his teeth. “And, maybe you should take a break.”

“No, no breaks,” he takes Saihara’s controller and shoves it into Shinguji’s bandaged hands, pushing his notebook aside. “I am beating this fucking thing.”

Saihara sends Shinguji a sympathetic look but doesn’t say another word as he shuffles out of the room. Shinguji looks down at the controller in near bewilderment at his current situation when Momota’s voice snaps him back to reality. The game’s loading back up again, and he’s saying, “Joystick is move forward, triangle is jump, circle is shoot fireballs, and that’s all you need to know.”

Momota’s avatar hops around impatiently. “C’mon, we got this hell level to get through and a boss at the end to fuck up.”

Shinguji hesitantly taps the joystick forward, and Momota breaks out into a grin. “I…” he can’t remember the last time he has felt this out of his element, but… “Will try.”

“You can leave most of the heavy lifting to me,” he says. “I’m basically an expert at this game.”

Even with his eyes trained on the T.V. before him, Shinguji manages to observe an immense variety of emotions that overtake Momota in their strange, shared journey. The depths of agony when Momota suffers at the same obstacles he and Saihara had struggled with and the openmouthed awe when Shinguji quickly figures out the puzzle’s solution, intrigue him in equal measure.

And then, of course, when far too many hours have passed, and the boss at the lies dead in front of their avatars, Momota leaps to his feet, screaming with joy. The way he pulls Shinguji up off the couch into a blind hug of pure elation is admittedly a bit much for his purposes of studying humanity. In fact, he thinks that, perhaps, it is something different altogether. 

In a world where Shinguji murders two girls in cold blood, Momota would want nothing to do with him. He would act afraid during his discussions of the occult and call the purposes behind his actions disgusting.

Shinguji would not care, because Momota, as a boy, would never be an adequate friend for his sister. During group meet ups, Momota would launch into near comically over the top speeches about belief and never giving up. The others would watch with rapt attention, and Shinguji just would not help but be able to find something about it slightly interesting.

-

In a world where she knows the outside world is in perfect order, Iruma busies herself on inventions to improve humanity. She puts her hands on her hips and says before her entire class that for a brief time only, the great Iruma Miu would consider taking requests for inventions that would better their pathetic, sexless lives. 

Kiibo, who was in need of upgrades beforehand, is the only one to approach her afterward. She must not have done as good a job of swallowing her disappointment as she thought she had as the robot tilts his head, and asks, “Iruma-san? Is everything—”

She snaps that everything’s great, and reminds him that wanting to fit in with the others or not, he really needs to stop attending P.E. classes. The reprimand is enough to make her walk back to her room one she makes alone.

In the dorm hall, Momota and Saihara are standing outside the astronaut’s door. Well, Saihara’s standing, nervously holding his hands close to his chest while Momota grips the doorknob with both hands and shoves his entire weight against the door. 

Iruma raises an eyebrow, and announces her presence with, “The fuck are you two virgins doing?”

Momota punctuates every word of his response with a slam of his shoulder against the door. “Trying. To. Open. My. Fucking. Door.” He lets out a loud sigh and slumps away from it. “Shuuichi, it’s hopeless. I’m going to have to sleep in your room again.”

Saihara’s face is flushed pink when he explains, “Momota-kun’s key broke off in the lock yesterday, and we’re not exactly sure what to do.”

“Fucking convenient he has a submissive like you around then, huh?” Iruma snorts. She twists a piece of hair between her fingers. “So have you asked anyone else about this shit?”

Momota shakes his head. “Nah. With shit like classroom walls getting tore off on a regular basis for some fucking reason, my room’s a pretty low priority for maintenance.”

Iruma’s looking at the split ends she’s rubbing against her fingertip. “School maintenance is pretty shit, but is there anyone else you could ask?” Momota looks plainly confused. Iruma stamps her foot. “Anyone who literally offered to make shit for you fucking minutes ago?!” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to fix my door?”

“Yes!” she shrieks before becoming startled at the sound of her own voice. “I-I mean, I guess I could lend losers like you some of my talents.” Iruma tries her best to look sultry when she says, “If you make it worth my while, that is. I’m sure between the two of you, you could figure out something.” 

Momota’s oblivious and gives her a thumbs up. “I know just the thing! Shuuichi,” the other boy starts at the sudden address. “Get that movie Harumaki gave you last week.”

With his face burning bright red, Saihara eagerly takes the excuse to dash past her down the hall to his own room. Alone with Momota, Iruma frowns at him. “You’re going to give me a fucking movie?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I remember Kiibo talking about the kind of stuff you guys watch together when you’re repairing him and shit.” He shrugs. “Figured Harumaki’s movie fits the bill.”

Iruma shifts from foot to foot. “But you don’t want to…” she turns her face away. “I literally fucking offered to…”

Momota leans to get back into her line of sight. “Oi, Iruma, is something wrong? Do you want something else?” He gives her a tentative smile. “Harumaki’s movie’s really good, I promise.”

She shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong… I just… thought I had to offer something.” Iruma wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. Momota’s staring at her with too much concern, so she snaps, “A-and Harukawa’s movie better be fucking amazing for the favor I’m doing you!” 

“It really is—hey, Shuuichi!” his voice is directed to someone behind her, and Iruma spins on her heel to see the other boy quietly closing the door to his own room, a DVD under one arm. “Movie night with Iruma after she fixes my door! You in?”

Saihara blinks, but nods a quick okay when he approaches. Iruma barely swallows the sheer surprise at being included before kneeling down to fix Momota’s door faster than Hope’s Peak’s maintenance team ever could. She works even faster than usual because part of her decides she really wants that movie night.

In a world where Iruma gets so desperate she attempts murder, Momota would be a stable leader. He would jump around and yell over the top things and send her scuttling into herself whenever one of her insults would be directed at someone almost as insecure as herself.

She would enter the virtual world with a plan to kill and to frame and to get away with it. Even after, Momota would loudly argue that she didn’t deserve to die, even as her last plan was to have him take the fall for her. 

-

In a world where Kiibo only ever is the Ultimate Robot, he attends classes and takes tests and studies and tries his hardest to be like everyone else. He usually spends most of his time thinking about the latter, but then there are times where a flustered Momota shows up at his door in the middle of the night, arms filled with notebooks and voice loud enough to wake up the entire hall.

“Kiibo,” he says. “Saihara’s asleep, so you, me library.”

Kiibo is barely able to utter out a word of protest before Momota is already running down the hall again. Kiibo leans out of his door to see him jogging backwards, saying, “C’mon get your stuff—let’s go!”

And something about that makes Kiibo comply immediately. It is only when they are in the library that questions about what they are possibly going to do swim through his head. He says, “Momota-kun…” and looks over him chaotically sorting through his notebooks on the heavy table they are sittting at. Kiibo ventures a guess, “Do you need help studying?”

Momota’s face is frazzled when he nods at him. “Yeah. Uh,” he pauses to haphazardly flip through one of his notebooks. “Can you read my essay for me? I can do math and science shit no problem, but fuck,” he collapses into a chair to illustrate his point. 

Kiibo nods in understanding. “I also find essay writing to be difficult. In fact, it is usually my worst subject...” but because Momota’s looking at him with such hope, he says, “but I will do my best to help you.”

“You are the fucking best, man,” Momota says and slides the notebook across the table to him. “Also,” he turns to one of the few textbooks he brought. “Did you do the reading for tomorrow?”

“Yes. I always make it a point to finish my reading assignments after returning from class.” Kiibo says proudly. Then more slowly, when he notices Momota’s sheepish expression, “Did you?”

Momota rubs the back of his head. “Uh, well you know how shit comes up sometimes?” he leans back in his chair. “Think you can give me a summary?”

Kiibo frowns. “I suppose I could try. But Momota-kun, if you need help,” he chastises, “I would be happy to assist you at reasonable hours of the day.”

To his surprise, Momota laughs. “Well, yeah, but isn’t there something fun about impromptu all night study sessions?” He smiles. “I mean, isn’t there just something about them that is just so,” he waves a hand vaguely, “‘high school student-y.’” 

“This,” Kiibo’s eyes slowly drift to the notebook in front of him. “Is something normal high school students do?”

Momota slaps him on the back with more force than the robot was expecting. “Hell yeah it is. So listen,” he leans in conspiratorially and Kiibo unconsciously mirrors the movement, “this goes both ways. If you ever wanna knock on my door at four in the morning to study, I am your man.”

Kiibo nods, treating the words with the utmost gravity. “I see.” He begins reading Momota’s scrawled essay, the author eagerly offering commentary as he goes, and begins to think of reasons for why he would ever need to study in the middle of the night. 

He flips a page. Momota reaches over him to point at a place on the page. The clock ticks on, and Kiibo smiles as he internally makes plans to do something human.

In a world Kiibo is the Ultimate Hope for one shining moment, Momota would be a leader. He would stand up for him and encourage everyone to believe in themselves and take on every burden if it meant the others could sleep easier. 

Momota would accept his fate as one of the last sacrifices to end the killing game for good with a smile on his face. Kiibo would fly high above the school, rockets blasting, jetpack blazing, and would find himself smiling, as well, when he would press the button on his chest to make himself the very last sacrifice. 

-

In a world where Gonta has the chance to live long enough to become a gentleman, he goes to a mall with his friends. Almost everyone immediately sets off in different directions, and Gonta is left standing like a deer in headlights at the entrance doors. He just looks, and takes in all the lights and the sounds, and then Momota charges over waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oi, Gonta,” he says. “You know a lot about camping right? Me and Shuuichi are gonna try and buy some stuff. You in?”

Gonta blinks down at him, before stammering, “Ah, yes! Gonta would be delighted to help!”

Saihara’s quiet and attempts to keep firmly to a list he wrote out beforehand. Momota zooms this way and that, seemingly excited about everything in the store. He places a too small badminton racket into Gonta’s too large hands and picks one up himself. He tosses the birdie into the air, with a quick shout of, “Defend yourself, Gonta!” and sends it flying at him.

He does and it goes flying, eventually petering to a stop where Saihara is standing down the aisle. The long suffering sigh is enough to make Momota laugh sheepishly and agree to put the rackets back. Gonta mumbles out, “Should we apologize to Saihara-kun?”

Momota shakes his head, and is entirely too cheerful when he says, “Nah, he’s used to not being able to take me anywhere.” He calls out. “Isn’t that right, Shuuichi?”

Saihara sighs. “Momota-kun, maybe you and Gonta-kun could look for coats and…” he debates whether or not to be blunt, “leave the sports aisle?” 

Momota salutes him. “Can do!” 

Gonta quickly moves to mimic the action. “Gonta will also help!” 

Saihara gives them a strained smile, and Momota pats Gonta on the shoulder. “C’mon, big guy, let’s see if we can find some stuff that’ll fit you.”

The outdoor wear section is lined with coats, hats, gloves, and other clothing items Gonta rarely thought about in droves. Momota immediately sets himself to the challenge of attempting to find a hat that won’t mess up his hair, but something else catches Gonta’s attention. 

He moves to a small circular display and picks up a pair of sleek black sunglasses as delicately as he can. He gently removes his own circular glasses and places the new pair on his face. The world becomes tinted dark, the bright lights that had distracted him before suddenly become dimmer and a filter appears over the world that mutes everything just enough.

Momota’s voice carries behind him. He spins around almost guiltily to see Momota with a hat in either hand. “Hey, Gonta, do you think this one would—” he cuts himself off. 

Gonta’s about to launch into a series of excuses when Momota’s face breaks into a grin. He says, “You look fucking awesome, dude.” He shuffles the two hats to one hand. “I never thought about you as the cool ‘sunglasses indoors’ kinda guy before.” 

Gonta blinks behind the shades. “Gonta looks cool?”

“Hell yeah,” Momota walks around him to pluck a pair for himself from the display. He slides them on to his face and immediately strikes a pose. “What about me? How do I look?” 

“Momota-kun looks very cool!” Gonta says. “But, uh, Momota-kun? What do cool guys do? Gonta has only ever trained to be a gentleman…”

Momota puffs out his chest. “You are talking to the right guy, my friend.” He reaches up to sling an arm over Gonta’s broad shoulders, the hats still gripped in his hand padding against his arm. “First thing you gotta do is think of a title for yourself. I’m Momota Kaito: Famous in Space. What about you?”

Gonta furrows his brow. “Gonta is… Gokuhara Gonta… famous among bugs?”

He gives him a thumbs up. “Perfect.” 

They wear the sunglasses for the rest of their shopping until Saihara comes back to look quizzically at them. He says, “Momota-kun, Gonta-kun, what are you—”

Momota cuts him off. “Oi, Shuuichi, watch this: I’m Momota Kaito: Famous in Space!” He gestures expectantly to Gonta who stumbles into action. 

Gonta attempts a pose similar to the one Momota did earlier. “And Gonta is Gokuhara Gonta: Famous among Bugs!” 

Saihara blinks at them, but then quietly claps when the two look at him expectantly. Gonta smiles. His smile grows even wider when Momota convinces Saihara to let him keep the sunglasses. 

In a world where Gonta is executed for a crime he can’t remember committing, Momota would call on him to help him defend the others. He would put his faith in him to work hard and to protect and say that the only obstacles in his path where the ones he put there himself. 

When the time would come to send Gonta to his death, Momota would take up defending him, fighting tooth and nail even as it became more and more painful. 

-

In a world where Shirogane is a copslayer and not an imitator, she sometimes finds herself returning to campus still donning one of her outfits from her latest shoot or convention. Occasionally, if she’s not too tired and her makeup doesn’t look too worn, she’ll take a few extra pictures in the more scenic parts of the school. 

She poses for a quick shot in front of one of the school’s fountains. She takes the picture but only when she turns her phone back towards herself, does she notice Momota casually photo-bombing in the background. Only when she spins on her heel, does Shirogane notice that Momota’s been trying to get her attention for the entire duration of her impromptu photo shoot. 

“Ah, Momota-kun!” she says. “I didn’t see you there! Why didn’t you say something?”

“I did?” he says. “But, uh, what are you doing, Shirogane?” He glances at the sunset stained sky. “It’s kinda late, and you’re…” he looks her outfit over, “wearing something interesting.”

Shirogane glances down at her own heavy pink dress and ruffled sleeves. “I just got back from a small meet-up,” she answers. “Usually I’m able to go around pretty unnoticed on campus, so I sometimes forget that my cosplays tend to stick out.”

He nods. “I see, so, uh,” he rubs the back of his head. “What you cosplaying?”

Her entire face lights up at his question. “Ah! I don’t know if you’d know it, but this is the outfit of a great detective girl—but she’s kind of a terrible person—who says she’s so great a detective that when she goes places, she begins investigating mysteries before they even happen!” 

Momota comments on the one phrase he was able to pick out of her rambling. “Oh, so you’re a detective?” he smirks. “Can you imagine if Shuuichi had to wear something like that?”

Shirogane giggles into her hands. “Oh, I think this is a bad choice for Shuuichi to cosplay. Part of it is really trying to get in character, and I don’t think he’d do very well with this one.” She taps her chin. “But you know what would be a great one for him?” She gasps. “Ah! And you could do it with him!”

Momota blinks. “Uh, not sure if I’m the cosplaying type,” he says. 

She takes a step towards him. “Nonsense. Anyone can cosplay if they understand and love the character enough.” She looks him over. “Oh, why didn’t I think of this sooner? You have Kamina written all over you!”

He smiles. “Sounds cool. I dunno know what that means but cool.”

“Momota-kun,” she asks suddenly very serious. “How do you feel about being photographed shirtless?”

He blanches. “Wait, what did I just sign myself up for?”

Shirogane giggles. “It can be a simple private shoot if you’re nervous, or even just a few phone pictures. Which reminds me,” she frowns down at her phone. “You totally photo bombed the picture I was taking.” 

“Did I?” he glances at the picture. “Oh, guess I did.” He laughs and plucks her phone from her hands. “Here, let’s take another one together.” 

“Wha—together?” she says. Momota’s already holding her phone out with one hand, and Shirogane’s startled face looks back at her when he presses the button. 

Momota pulls the phone back towards him and frowns. “Hey, you’re not smiling.”

“Momota-kun,” she says. “You should have given me more warning.”

“Alright, alright,” he steps towards her again. “Third time’s the charm. Say, uh…”

Shirogane smiles bright as she says, “Say Kamina cosplay!”

Momota doesn’t understand but smiles along, and Shirogane posts the photo to her blog, captioning it to say it’s her with her latest model. 

In a world where Shirogane hides her role as the Ultimate Copycat, she would look at the footage of a tall, broad shouldered boy with hair that sticks straight up in the air and would be inspired to make the brightest, boldest hero she could. 

In the game, he would lead the group and act rashly and making sweeping, heroic gestures that would occasionally catch even her off guard. She would think he plays exactly into the role she set out for him until the press comes down and the Exisal appears and she finds herself completely baffled by her own creation. 

-

In a world where Ouma can play jokes and games without worry, he dashes through the halls past other students, laughing as over the top and maniacally as he can. The students he runs past have little time to process his actions because as soon as he turns a corner down a hall, disappearing from their sights, the roar and pounding footsteps of Momota sound from the other end. 

Momota’s legs are longer, giving his strides more power over Ouma’s quick scurrying feet. To counter this, Ouma takes to darting around crowds of students in his way, reaching out to knock piles of papers and notebooks to the ground, and, of course, making sure to let out a series of taunts between his giggling to keep Momota distracted by his own frustration. 

However, the game reaches its logical conclusion when Ouma finds himself cornered on the roof. He almost casually looks down over the ledge, considering briefly if the sheer shock on Momota’s face would be worth attempting to climb down. 

The door to the rooftop rattles behind him, and Ouma folds his hands behind his head, nonchalantly skipping over to greet the furious Momota who bursts through. He gives him his biggest smile, and says, “Looks like you caught me, Momota-chan! Good job!”

Momota takes a second to brace himself on the doorway, panting heavily. “We just ran… around the entire… fucking school… how… the fuck… are you not… exhausted?” 

“A supreme leader like me has a lot of practice making getaways,” he says plainly. “Momota-chan, you should really do better if you want to keep playing with me.”

“I’m not playing,” he takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “Jackshit.” 

“Awww, but we just had lots of fun, didn’t we?” 

Momota looks him straight in the eyes. “You actually tried to throw one of the fucking breeder’s hamsters at me.”

Ouma puffs out his cheeks. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Momota just shakes his head. “If I could live in your head for a day, man,” he says before gesturing for Ouma to move out of the way. “Oi, if we’re going to keep talking, I need to sit down.”

Ouma skips to the side as Momota collapses on a spot on the ground. “You’re pretty beat, Momota-chan,” Ouma says sitting next to him with his legs crossed. “Sure you’re not losing your edge?”

“Fuck you,” he says. “The only thing I’m losing is my patience with your bullshit.”

Ouma smiles. “Well, wait no more! Here we are on the roof, Momota-chan! No place to escape for me.”

Momota turns his head to the side to stare at him. “Why are you so happy about that? Also,” he moves to roll his shoulders. “Why are you sitting next to me instead of fucking running around like earlier?”

“I told you,” he answers. “This game’s almost over. And we should finish it really soon so we can start our next one.”

Momota groans. “That means you already have your next shitty prank setup, huh?”

He beams. “Maybe. But I can’t give away all my secrets, Momota-chan. I can’t be an open book like you.”

“Sometimes,” he says. “I really fucking wish you were. Y’know, Shuuichi always says there’s more going on with you. And sometimes I see it, and sometimes I really don’t. And if I did, maybe we could actually have a fucking conversation.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “That’d be nice.” 

Ouma goes blank for a second that Momota doesn’t see, then smiles again as he chooses to address the part of his response most likely to infuriate him. “Aww, my beloved Saihara-chan talks about me?”

Momota snorts. “Sometimes. But sometimes I talk about you and that doesn’t mean I want to fucking kiss you.”

Ouma pouts. “But I want to kiss you, Momota-chan.”

“WHAT?! Don’t say shit like—hey!” he shouts, but Ouma’s already jumped up to dash back down the stairs and through the school, giggling all the way. Momota doesn’t even process the tiredness in his limbs as he yells, “Hey, come back here, you little brat!” and chases after him anew. 

In a world where Ouma takes everyone’s hatred and anger on to himself, Momota would battle him almost constantly. Momota would make a grand speech befitting a hero, and Ouma would follow it up with a dastardly speech befitting a villain. Momota would believe and trust in anyone, talking about the importance of truth. Ouma would find it impossible to ever reveal anything about himself, and fall back on the importance of lies. 

In the machinery bay, with poison running through their veins, they would finally see eye to eye, and Momota would look down at him with such regret that they only ever understood each other when it was almost too late. He would gently carry him to the press, and Ouma would be shaking and look up at him with round eyes and say, “You aren’t boring, Momota-chan.” Then the press would fall, and both their fates would be sealed. 

-

In a world where Maki really is the Ultimate Caregiver, she is somehow convinced into letting Momota come to her classroom to talk about stars. There’s glow in the dark finger paint and a huge sheet of black construction paper stretched out in front of a crossed legged Momota. The children are invited to paint whatever looks like a star to them wherever they want, but he is very precise with where he touches the paper with his paint coated hands. 

Maki’s staring over his shoulder as he makes three large dots in a row. “This is Orion’s belt,” he says. “It’s a pretty cool constellation if you ever get the chance to see it.”

One of the kids asks, “Who’s Orion?”

Momota smiles. “He was a real awesome hunter, but,” he makes several lines that come out from one point and then drags his finger down the paper and back up at the end in a curling motion, “there was a big scorpion named Scorpius, who stung him.”

Maki raises her eyebrows. She mutters under her breath so only Momota can hear, “He can’t have been a very good hunter then if was poisoned by a scorpion.” 

Momota laughs. “That’s not the end of the story, Harumaki.” She flushes at the nickname, but he keeps going. “See Orion was so awesome that it was decided he should be part of the stars, but since Scorpius also got put in the sky, they made it so that the two never show up at the same time.” 

Another child asks him in a puzzled tone, “How come they never show up together?”

“Uh,” Momota says. “That’s actually kind of a complicated question.”

Maki nods. “Perhaps I can explain. The sky’s a really big place.” She dips her own fingers into the paint. “The earth’s big, too, but the sky’s even bigger, and it’s wrapped around the earth,” she glances around for inspiration, “like a blanket.”

Momota’s smiling next to her. “That’s right. And Orion’s on one end of the blanket, and Scorpius is somewhere in the middle, so even if you warp it around, they won’t be next to each other.”

The children seem content with that answer and doodle random shapes, amiably chattering amongst themselves. After a moment of comfortable silence, Momota asks, “When’s your birthday, Harumaki?”

She shakes her head. “I told you not to call me that.” Maki purses her lips and says after a moment, “February second.” 

“Then you’re an Aquarius, which,” he draws out a crooked jug shape with a line sticking out of it, “looks something like this.”

Maki looks over the squiggles, red eyes blinking. “Do you have every star sign memorized?”

“Most of them,” he nods. “I’m an Aries, which is kinda boring to draw.” Momota’s finger moves in a near straight line and then bends down. 

Maki tilts her head at it. “What is it supposed to be?”

“A ram,” he says. “Really doesn’t fu—fricking look like it though.”

“It suits you though,” she says, slim fingers tracing out the beginnings of a more cartoonish sheep. “You’re pretty stubborn.” She smiles. “And hardheaded.”

He laughs. “That’s cold, Harumaki, even after I painted you so many nice shapes.” A mischievous grin creeps on his face. “You know, that’s a nice shirt you have. Sure would be a shame if someone got paint all over it.”

She jerks her head up to see him wiggling his paint covered fingers at her. “Don’t you dare—!” she shouts immediately throwing an arm out to defend herself when he moves to slap a handprint on her shoulder.

They rile the kids up entirely too much in their chase around the classroom, Momota rallying half the kids behind him in his crusade to cover her in paint, and Maki attracting the loyalty of the other half to coat him back.

Saihara opens the door with a soft click after his too quiet knocks go unanswered over the battle inside. “Ah, Momota-kun, I’m here so we can go—” his eyes widen at the sight before him. 

Momota grins and waltzes over to the door, Maki at his heels. “Hey, Shuuichi,” he spreads his arms out. “How about a hug?” 

Saihara’s eyes dart to Maki for help. She simply walks over to the light switch and flicks it off. The kids immediately ooh and ahh at the bright green glow emanating from the paint they splattered everywhere. Saihara’s momentarily distracted, too, and that’s when Momota goes in for his hug.

Saihara yelps, and Momota laughs, shooting a beaming smile to Maki. “Knew you were on my side, Harumaki.”

“No,” she says, smirking at them. “I’m always on my side. And that side happens to want Saihara to be covered in paint.”

Saihara just groans at the sight of their teamwork splattered in neon paint all over the front of his shirt.

In a world where Maki never thinks anyone would give the Ultimate Assassin the time of day, Momota would immediately stand by her side. He’d believe in her and put his trust in her against all odds, and give her the biggest, dumbest smile because he would be so convinced she’d never let him down. 

Maki would lie for him. Maki would die for him. Maki would attempt to take on every Exisal herself if it meant one more minute with him. But Momota would say that it’s okay that she doesn’t have to. He’d say that he wants her to live on and keep fighting and call her Harukmaki one last time before he would willingly walk to his own execution.

-

In a world where Saihara can spend everyday all day with Momota, he takes far too much time picking out the perfect gift and making the perfect cake and trying desperately to set up the perfect timing for it all to come together. 

Momota emerges bright and smiling from his door when Saihara knocks on it that morning. He says, “We doing anything today, Shuuichi? It’s kind of an important day, today.” 

Saihara nods fast. “Y-yes. I, um,” he lifts the picnic basket in his hand higher into Momota’s view. “I figured we could go to the planetarium and then maybe eat at the park, and if you still want to hang out we could, uh,” he looks at his shoes. “We could maybe watch the stars?” 

Saihara’s waiting for a verbal response when Momota slings an arm around his thin shoulders. “Sounds good. Is it just going to be the two of us?”

“Ah,” Saihara feels his face beginning to light up red. “Y-yeah. For most of the day anyway.” He tugs at his bangs. “Sorry.”

Momota snorts, his arm wrapped around Saihara’s shoulders reaching up to ruffle his hair. “What are you apologizing for? Hanging out with my assistant’s the fucking best. I mean,” Momota begins to steer them down the hallway. “Everyone else is pretty cool, but there’s only one Shuuichi, you know?’

Saihara isn’t sure if he does know, but he responds, “Well, ah, I don’t want to monopolize your time anything.” He looks away. “You’re pretty popular, Momota-kun.”

“Eh, I don’t know about that,” he says rubbing the back of his head. “I think I mostly just get myself into a lot of messes.” 

Saihara laughs. “I guess that’s also true, ah, but,” he smiles at the ground. “Sometimes you’re kind of hard to get alone.” The full implication behind his words catch up with him and he stutters out, “I-I mean, I just really like spending time with you! S-sorry if that sounded weird…”

Momota seems to be thinking something over. “Oi, Shuuichi. This is my birthday, right?”

“Yes…”

“And who do I want to spend it with?” 

Saihara flushes. “Me?” 

“So what should you be doing?” he asks finally.

His last question leaves Saihara baffled. “Um,” he puts a hand to his chin. “Paying a lot of attention to you?” 

Momota’s grinning from ear to ear. “Damn straight.” His arm resting around Saihara’s shoulder pulls him into a half hug.

Saihara smiles, and finds himself incredibly pleased at the idea of saying the next words that came to him. “It’s kind of hard not to pay attention to you, Momota-kun,” he says. “You’re famous wherever you go—earth and space. You just, ah,” he tries to meet Momota’s eyes despite being very away of his brilliantly red face. “Wherever you go, you become the center of the galaxy.” 

“Shuuichi?”

“Yes?”

Momota pats his head. “That was really fucking cheesy, and,” he presses a kiss to his forward. “I really fucking love you.”

Saihara leans back against him. “Ah, I know.”

They follow Saihara’s plan for the day, being stopped here and there by their classmates wishing Momota a happy birthday or making pointed comments about Saihara being firmly under his arm. In a few cases it’s both, and Momota brushes them off by pulling Saihara ever closer into his own gravity.

Because Saihara decides that if each of their classmates are stars, then Momota’s the universe that holds them together. He tells Momota as much when they’re alone again and gets another forehead kiss in return. 

In a world where Saihara emerges from the rubble of the killing game a changed person, he would make friends with another boy named Momota Kaito who would give him a thumbs up and tell him he’s famous even in the far away world of space.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Momota!


End file.
